


My Last Good Day with Charlie

by bluedelilah



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Charlie is low-key an asshole in this...sorry, F/M, I genuinely don't know what this is, No Smut, Sappy, first person POV, not a HEA, not really fluff either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27241603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedelilah/pseuds/bluedelilah
Summary: "Funny how the last good day was so seemingly boring"I wrote this because I felt like writing. If you feel like reading something, this serves that purpose, but it's really not a one shot or a self indulgent blurb. I'm just posting it because I like to share my writing! That's all. I hope you enjoy it anyways!
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	My Last Good Day with Charlie

My last good day with Charlie was a Tuesday in June. 

It was warm in LA, the kind of heat that makes the tag in your shirt feel extra itchy. Humidity will always be my least favorite greeting. If god exists, how dare he put water in the air and make us still breath it. 

His days with Henry were always alarmingly different than his days without him. He was more excited, more urgent, almost panicked. I guess that's what happens when at some point, you thought you wouldn't have your kid at all. 

That Tuesday in June was a non-Henry day, one of the 55%. Charlie didn't usually seem bothered by that extra 5%. I, on the other hand, was always irked by the audacity to rip away that tiny, what-difference-would-it-fucking-make, bit of time. 

I always knew Charlie's mood as soon as he got up in the morning. On the bad days, when the world weighed heavier at his conscious, he would sit at the edge of the bed for a full twenty seconds before he could convince himself to stand. On good days, I was usually awoken by how swiftly he would leave the mattress. So when I woke up on that Tuesday, to the jostling of the bed as Charlie stood and stretched, I knew it would be a good day. I just didn't know it would be the last. 

Charlie might have been eager to get up, but mornings never come easy to me, so I lingered beneath the sheets with my thumb tapping away at the screen of my phone. My only inspiration to abandon my comfort was Charlie's stance in the doorframe of the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth, eyes on my sleepy face. I grinned and tried to act annoyed, but giddiness was bursting in my chest. Finally a good day with him, after so many bad ones. 

I think I knew for weeks that the end was soon. In the beginning, he had refrained from talking about Nicole, about the divorce, about how utterly pained he would always feel about the ordeal. Then the truth started to slip out. Anger was piled high within him, not that I felt it was an incorrect response. I didn't realize until July, until it was too late, that Charlie had been hoping I could douse that restless fire within him. I wish I could have. But I was outnumbered by the flames. 

He fucked me on the kitchen counter before we left. He was sweet, leaving kisses on my cheek after we finished. His fingers left red marks on my thighs. 

Charlie's summer clothes didn't differ much from his winter ones. Khaki's were never going to be left behind, though I had convinced him to occasionally switch his button ups for plain t-shirts. Today's was burnt orange. Like fire. 

Funny how the last good day was so seemingly boring. Errands were first. He had new, better photos of Henry printed at a shop. Then there was the grocery store, where he picked up one new bag of coffee beans. 

Lunch was an overpriced sandwich that Charlie complained about. Charlie tended to complain about most things in LA for being too expensive or simply not nearly as good as the equivalent in New York. I always agreed with him, though I happened to like LA and it's eight dollar smoothies. 

The afternoon brought blaring sunlight into his apartment. It heated the room and we tried to diffuse the situation with two cheap fans blowing directly towards the couch. Charlie's laptop was open in his lap and _City of Girls_ was in mine. My neck was against the arm of the sofa, dampening the fabric in sweat, while my feet were next to his legs, taking advantage of the breeze that was flowing there. 

From time to time I'd glance over the top of my book to peek at him. His face tended to get poutier when he was focused, lips puckered, brows quizzical. The expression was both humorous and concerning and I liked to wait until he noticed my stare, because only then would his frown be replaced with a curious smile. 

When the keyboard of his laptop stopped clicking, I would feel his hand rubbing along my calf. The gesture was a sure sign of his whirring mind, processing whatever task he was getting out of the way. His fingers tickled my skin but I never squirmed or complained. I liked to think that his touch was there to soak up my own calm mind and transfer the clarity to his. 

When Charlie became focused, the rest of the wold tended to fade away. Including me. That Tuesday was no different. We ordered takeout, because his laptop was still open and demanding his attention. Considering tomorrow was a Henry day, I didn't mind his desire to get work completed. His chow mien remained untouched on the coffee table for an hour before he took enough of a breath to consume it. By then it was cold, but he didn't mention it. 

The light of daytime had fizzled away but the heat was ever present. Charlie felt accomplished enough to set his duties aside and enjoy a movie. I chose a scary one, a random pick off Netflix. He kept commenting about how poorly the movie had been done and I kept rolling my eyes even though I liked hearing his commentary. 

That night he stood behind me as we brushed our teeth. He kept making eye contact through the mirror and it made me giggle for no reason. I crawled into bed in my favorite nightgown, and he followed in his briefs and white undershirt. 

When Charlie cuddled, it wasn't very intimate. One arm slung over your waist. A lazy hand on your leg. Not that warm day in June. That night he pulled me back into his chest. His palm rubbed up and down my thigh. He buried his face in my neck and I could feel his hot breath against my skin. 

I wonder if he knew right then, in the dim moonlight that was creeping through the slits of the blinds, my body pressed to his, our hearts syncing in rhythm, that I wasn't the one who would be able to save him. If he had known I wish he would have said so. 

A full week of bad days passed before he revealed his change in feelings. It wasn't going to work out. I couldn't do anything but nod. 

I try not to remember Charlie for those moments he called Nicole gross names. I try to forget the look on his face when he spoke of LA. I ignore how arrogantly he spoke of his career. I'd rather remember Charlie for how puffy his lips were in the morning, and that one curl in his hair that tended to stick up. I remember Charlie for how happy he was on his days with Henry and how polite he was to taxi drivers. 

I remember Charlie for the good things, and I can only hope he does the same.


End file.
